The world snuggles down into it's self before pulling up the covers...

It seems as if the whole world waits with breath held in these soggy grey days of late fall.
Days which should be used for putting things by for the winter. Days that smell of downed leaves, woodsmoke, and baking. Days when everything slows in it's blind rush toward oblivion, and looks forward to the upcoming period of great white-dark sleep.

But I'm no Bear...
- K.